


5 Times Charlie Could Have Fucked You. And One Time He Did.

by xntricgrrrl



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, imaginary infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xntricgrrrl/pseuds/xntricgrrrl
Summary: That platonic best friend that's always around. Like a cozy, oversized sweatshirt. The one who knows all the skeletons in your closet by name and sill refuses to judge any of you. Still there, even when warm and fuzzy gets warmer. When heartbeats quicken and temptation pulls like a magnet. Why should you bother to pull away?
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Original Character(s), Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> An experimental 5 Times trope, set within the Soft Drop 'verse. Because unresolved sexual tension is fun and all these scenarios and bits of dialogue floating in my head need to find a home. And writing in Charlie's POV is a fun challenge and..... kinda hot?

Charlie looks up from the prompt book balanced on his knees, while he holds the script in one hand. He’s been looking at light cues and blocking for so long, his eyes are starting to cross. What a pain in the ass this TA class had turned out to be. Thank God it’s almost over. In the chair, with her toe socks propped up on the soundboard, (Y/N) sleeps with her mouth open, snoring gently. Charlie shakes his head. Out of all the squirrely freshman he’d been running herd on all semester, she seems to be the only one that’s really taking things seriously. Maybe too seriously sometimes, for a standard Theater 101 fuck-off. But Charlie likes that intensity. She’s passionate without having become jaded and cynical yet.  
She’s also immediately at home in any performance space which he finds reassuring for some reason. It’s become not uncommon to find her working on philosophy homework in the balcony or napping between classes in the booth, which she seems to think of as her own personal nest.  
Tonight, Charlie had met with her class group to help iron out any last-minute kinks before their final performance. Tomorrow, he’d be meeting up with another group to help then fine tune their project. Then the third group. There were easily 144,00 kids in this class. They’d been receptive to his notes and enthusiastic getting every element perfect. But, as the night wore on, one-by-one, they’d dropped like flies, dropping excuses as they went. (Y/N) had been discussing the difference between Representing and Experiencing and calling Stanislavski a slut-bag. The pencil she had tucked behind her ear kept falling out. But as soon as her shoes came off and she’d tucked herself into the chair, Charlie knew it was a lost cause.  
He closes the book and looks at his watch. He can’t really begrudge the kids for leaving. They’re just kids, after all and they probably all have classes at 7 am. There’s dedication, and then there’s delusion. Speaking of delusion, (Y/N)’s arm has slipped and is now dangling off the chair. Charlie stares for a minute. He thinks he remembers her mentioning at some point that she plays the violin. Her fingers are a nice shape. And there’s something almost fascinating about her dark blue nail polish.  
“Hey!” Charlie hoists himself up from floor and kicks the bottom of her chair. “(Y/N), unless you plan on spending the entire night here, we should go.” He has a key, but would at least like the janitor to be able to do his job. And, honestly, he really doesn’t like the idea of the janitor coming across a snoozing (Y/N) at all.  
“I have a toothbrush stashed in one of the dressing rooms,” she mutters without moving or opening her eyes. “It’s all good.”  
“Find your shoes,” Charlie says as he reaches over her legs and pulls her feet off the board. “Oh, you’re a tyrant!” she groans, sitting up and stretching against the back of the chair.  
“Seriously, though,” Charlie scans the floor of the small room for any discarded snack wrappers the group may have left. He doesn’t see (Y/N)’s shoes anywhere. “You guys have been working really hard on this thing and I’m impressed.”  
She smiles sleepily as she leans back against the counter and stretches again raising her arms above her head. Charlie is momentarily distracted by the way her sweatshirt rides up and shows her midriff. Holy shit, does she have a pierced bellybutton?! She scratches her head and adjusts the pencil behind her ear. “Thanks, boss.” The way she says thanks and how her whole face lights up when she smiles sends a surge of warmth into Charlie’s chest, a surge that travels quickly down to his cock. That’s a definite conflict of interest there and he needs to shift his brain back into superior TA mode. Before he gets his ass into trouble.  
“Move,” he orders (Y/N) as he reaches behind her to turn off the house lights. “Where the hell are my boots?” she asks no one in particular, completely ignoring Charlie. But she leans into him and turns slightly toward him as she peers around for her shoes. His right hip is now pressed into her left. And the room is way too small. And very, very warm.  
After turning off the lights, Charlie pulls his arm back from behind her and she makes a noise, low in her throat when his hand brushes past her waist. From his position, he could put it on (Y/N)’s other hip now, or slide it down her belly and into those ridiculous velour pants she has on. He knows exactly what he’ll find in there if he did. God, she’d be so fucking wet for him and he wants nothing more at this second than to just slip a finger into that tight pussy and feel it squeeze around him!  
Neither of them moves and the moment stretches into an eternity. The ghost light on the stage is like a star. Its dim light still reaches them, even though it’s already dead. (Y/N) sighs and leans closer and Charlie catches a whiff of her perfume or her shampoo or whatever it is that makes her smell like an orange orchard. “In the corner,” her voices shakes as she looks around Charlie and pushes off the counter away from him. He watches her pick up the pair of pink fuzzy boots and lean against the wall to pull them on.  
Charlie lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His composure is back and he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Those things are fucking hideous. You know that, right?” (Y/N) smiles again and pulls her shirt down over that infuriating strip of skin. “Of course, I do! I love them.”


	2. Two

“Oh my God, here it comes!” (Y/N) whispers as she grabs Charlie’s knee, her nails gouging through the fabric of his pants. He gently pulls her off and lets her squeeze his hand instead. Partly so they could feel more connected as they both shared the much-anticipated, dramatic moment, but it also hurt like hell, sinking her talons into him. On stage, Annette is wobbling and sweating as Alan tries to comfort her. Hope Davis really is crushing it in this role. And (Y/N)’s hand is shaking in his.  
“Yes, it is!” Annette hisses and glares at her husband. “And I understand why. It's deathly, all of it. It's deathly.” At that word, she lurches forward and projectile vomits. All over Alan and Michael and Veronica, downstage and very nearly into the pit. Charlie is impressed as hell. It’s a difficult effect to pull off on stage. He’s really glad that they got tickets and fully expects God of Carnage to sweep the Tonys in June.  
Outside, they stand under the Jacobs Theatre marquee. Charlie makes sure he’s 20 feet from the door before he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. (Y/N) didn’t say a word as they left the theater and now, she’s standing with her shoulders hunched up to her ears and her eyes enormous. “I’m still shaking!” she exclaims, flapping her hands like she’s trying to ward off demons or just get herself to calm down. Charlie takes one last drag from the cigarette before he stubs it out on the pavement and shrugs off his jacket. “Are you cold?” he asks, draping it over her shoulders. “God!” she groans, as Charlie rubs her arms in an attempt to help her warm up. “Really great theatre like that? Sometimes it’s better than a really great orgasm, you know?” Charlie nods. “No argument here. Come on.” He throws an arm around her and pulls her toward the bank of cabs waiting by the curb. “I’ll take you home with me and you can scream into a pillow for a while.”  
It’s become a tradition of theirs to rehash the shit out of every shared experience. Every movie or play, every old episode of The Twilight Zone seen together requires extensive discussion and analysis afterwards. Even if one of them just winds up expounding the same point over and over while the other interrupts with “Yes! Yes!” When (Y/N)’s mother walked into the kitchen to start the morning coffee, they were still talking about the cinematography in Slumdog Millionaire. Charlie loves the conversations like that, where they’re tuned into the same frequency and it’s so easy to lose track of time. And he also kind of loves (Y/N)’s mom and her open-door/open-couch policy.  
“Mike’s gone, visiting his girlfriend for the week,” Charlie warns as he lets them into his apartment. “So, the whole place doesn’t reek like Nag Champa for once.” His roommate will probably spend the rest of his life following his girlfriend around like a smitten lapdog. The girl must give really amazing head or something. “Are we going to talk about the vomit now, or what?” (Y/N)’s has already unearthed a jar or garlic olives from the fridge and holds it out to him.  
Hours later, they lie on Charlie’s bed, passing the last of an enormous joint between them. And are well into their third (or was it only their second?) bottle of China China. Even though they’re on top of the covers and a cool breeze comes in through the open window, Charlie feels incredibly warm and cozy. Feels like he has all his favorite things with him.  
“You could do that, you know?” (Y/N) speaks up in the middle of a lull in the conversation. She passes the joint to him. “You really could.”  
“Mmmm, vomit everywhere?” There are a great many things that Charlie is certain he can do. None of which he can really think of at the moment.  
“Shut up!” (Y/N) jabs him in the chest, hard enough to elicit and “Ow!” in response and makes him cough. “You could direct something like that, on Broadway. Something that critics and audiences are both totally enthralled with! Something transcendent, like almost religious.”  
“Well, if not,” Charlie shrugs. “There’s always the Buttfuck Community Theatre.” He’s a cocky bastard. He’s damn good and he knows he is. But sometimes, too much bragging feels like tempting the fates, almost. It’s easy to be the big fish in a little pond in grad school, but out in the real world, in the meat grinder that is New York theatre who knows?  
(Y/N) groans in frustration. “Jesus, Charlie! Will you permit me to stroke your ego, just gently?” Charlie huffs out a laugh at her choice of words. “Don’t sell yourself short like that. Please?” she continues. “You really are just, astoundingly talented. Like, a fucking visionary!”  
“That’s sweet,” Charlie says, putting a hand on her shoulder. Her vote of confidence seems even more important than the opinions of all the professors that want to mentor him and the squealy freshman girls that want to fuck him. “There is a Tony for Best Direction of a Play,” (Y/N) quietly muses. “And sometimes, you just deserve to act like an arrogant dickhead, you know?"  
“Do you remember when Marcia Gay Harden played Lee Krasner in that Jackson Pollock film?” Charlie asks, nudging (Y/N) with his foot and effectively changing the subject. “In like. 2002 or something?”  
“Pollock was an asshole,” (Y/N) answers, without opening her eyes. Stretched out on her back, with her hands folded, she looks like the marble statue of a saint, reclining atop her tomb. Charlie rolls his eyes. “My point being, it was a pretty fucking incredible performance. And then tonight? Like, God she’s versatile.”  
(Y/N) rolls over and props her head on her elbow. “Jeff Daniels, though,” she sighs. “I’d buy a ticket to see that man read off the ingredients from the back of a can of soup.” Charlie has no idea why this comment sends a pang of jealousy through him. “You have a crush on Jeff Daniels!” he teases in a sing-songy playground voice. But she stands her ground, secure in her choice of celebrity heartthrobs. “Damn right, I do,” she answers. “One does not watch Dumb and Dumber as a child and not develop a crush on Jeff Daniels.” Charlie cannot think of a single thing in that role that is crush-worthy. Though, he does have to admit that Daniels’ performance earlier that evening was nothing short of riveting. “You have odd taste in men,” he observes. Which isn’t entirely true. (Y/N)’s last boyfriend had been a good guy. Good, but reasonably bland. At least bland enough for the relationship to quickly fizzle. “In my defense,” she pauses and holds up a finger, retrieves her glass from above the headboard and takes another sip of wine. “I don’t even think I’d hit puberty yet.” Charlie laughs. “Yeah, that actually makes it worse.”  
She flings herself onto her back, folds her arms and closes her eyes again. “Charlie Daniels is my soulmate,” she pouts. And Charlie laughs even harder. “Did you just say that Charlie Daniels was your soulmate?!” he gasps. Is she really that drunk? Or just slipping into Freudian slips?  
“Did I?” she asks, looking over at him and looking genuinely confused. “Ah, fuck! I don’t know. I’m just… I’m sleepy.” And Charlie curses himself. He knows by now that she goes from witty to moody to comatose in 2.4 seconds, drinking. “Then go the hell to sleep,” Charlie teases as he rolls her onto her side and reaches over her to turn of the lamp. He doesn’t like to let her go home by herself, and if he’s going to escort her all the way back, she might as well just stay there. There’s never been an issue with sleeping in the same bed. There’s no such thing as personal space to theatre people. Even when he’s the big spoon. He’s glad that she’s safe and she’s his best friend in the world, but he’s just not going to let the Charlie Daniels thing go so easily. “Sleep well and dream of golden fiddles,” he soothes as he pats her arm. “Shut up!” she whines, thrusting her ass hard into his crotch. Charlie freezes and maybe it’s the China China talking, but his reaction to her assault was not supposed to be his cock immediately filling with blood. The platonic BFF and big brother, Charlie would sooner die than take advantage of her when she’s drunk, but his proximity to her warm body and the way his dick still throbs from her impact, it’s both maddening and extraordinary!  
There are the very rare times when unspoken tension will rise up between them, when some mental door opens just enough to reveal what could be if things were different. If things were different, Charlie muses, she would sleep every night in his bed and he’d never have to worry about sending her home. Beside him, (Y/N) snores softly, stretches and pulls one leg up to her chest.  
Charlie imagines holding that leg up and pushing all the way into her in one motion. He could wrap one arm around her as he fucks her, slide his hand down to her clit when he feels her begin to tighten around him. Beyond that, he can’t picture much else. But just the vague idea of making her come has Charlie palming himself through his pants. Then quietly crawling out of the bed.  
He’d feel a lot less guilty if he could stare at his own reflection under the bright light in the bathroom, stare down as he watches his hand frantically jerking his swollen cock and leave (Y/N) out of sight and out of mind in the bedroom. And when he finally gets there, shooting hot ropes of cum over his hand that drip and run down his arm, he still has to clench his jaw, and grit his teeth hard to keep his lips from forming her name.


	3. Three

The reflection in the mirror looks like a complete stranger. A stuffy, bow-tied stranger. Charlie realizes with a feeling of dread, that he looks like his grandfather. He shakes his head, refusing to see it as a bad omen. He was so used to saying that he never wanted to get married, the reality   
He hears the click and swish of the door opening and turns to see if it’s any of his wayward groomsmen, returned from their quest to find more alcohol. Instead it’s (Y/N) who closes the door softy behind her and moves soundlessly across the carpeted floor to him. “Every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dress man,” she shrugs. “Thanks,” Charlie feels his anxiety drop a degree and he’s glad that he’d insisted she be in the wedding and that Nicole had generously made her a bridesmaid. “If she means a lot to you, then she means a lot to me,” Nicole had told him. “And I’d be honored to have her by my side.” Any woman who automatically accepts your quirky, opposite sex, best friend/platonic soul mate is a definite keeper.   
Charlie pulls at the lapels on his jacket. “You don’t think I look like an undertaker?” he asks. (Y/N) laughs and Charlie notices she’s wearing a different shade of lipstick than she normally does. “An undertaker?!” and she shakes her head. “Jesus, that’s morbid, Charlie. What the hell is wrong with you? You look fantastic.”  
“Wait a minute, why are you even in here?” Charlie asks, forgetting for a moment that she was on an opposing team. Girls vs. Boys. Except his boys are off pillaging. “Is everything all right?”   
“Everything is fine,” she assures him. “The women are all drunk.” That comes as a surprise, but not a big one, considering Nicole’s inability to quit when she’s ahead sometimes. But as long as no one passes out or throws up on the altar (especially Cassie), Charlie isn’t worried. “Where are your dudes?” (Y/N) asks, glancing around the empty room. “Your posse? Your bros?” Charlie sighs. “Drinking.” And (Y/N) laughs again, throwing her head back so the light catches on her dangly earrings. And the earrings and the lipstick and Charlie feels like he’s watching a solar eclipse: familiar, but somehow extraordinary. “Wow! You look stunning,” he blinks in surprise.  
(Y/N) tugs at the top of the strapless dress. “Watch yourself,” she warns. “Don’t make me go full-on Benjamin Braddock on you in the middle of the ceremony.” She smiles wanly. “Anyway, I wanted a chance to see you before the feeding frenzy descends and swallows you.” Suddenly, she lunges at him. Wrapping her arms around him as tight as they’ll go and pressing her face into his chest. Charlie reflexively rests his chin on the top of her head. One of his hands is splayed across her back, two fingers resting on the slippery cool fabric of her dress while the others press into the warm skin just below her shoulder blades. It’s an odd, disconnected feeling, like touching two different people at once and Charlie can’t say that he likes it.  
And when she pulls back and smiles up at him, there’s nothing but absolute joy on her face. “I am so fucking happy for you, Charlie! Like, I want to scream. Nicole is incredible and I love her to death already and I cannot wait to watch you guys just grow old together!”  
“Do me a favor and wait until after the ceremony to scream and not during,” Charlie warns. “Dude,” (Y/N) raises her eyebrows at him. “Seriously? Have you even seen The fucking Graduate?”  
“Of course, I’ve seen The Graduate,” he snaps. “I get it. Yelling during the wedding. Elaine. I meant….” “  
“Goddammit,” she interrupts and rolls her eyes. “I screwed up your bowtie. Hang on.” Charlie watches her hands as she reaches up to straighten the tie around his neck. For once, her nails aren’t painted some weird flashy shade. They’re just very, very shiny. “There you go,” she pats his arm and Charlie turns to stare at himself in the mirror again. “Sharp dressed man,” (Y/N) repeats approvingly. He doesn’t look as severe as an undertaker anymore, Charlie thinks, but still somber. “Look at us, (Y/N) mutters as she shakes her head at their reflection. “At your wedding!” Charlie can feel the back of her hand against his and twines his fingers with hers. And he watches in the mirror as she presses her lips together, stares at a spot on the ceiling and blinks. Charlie frowns. “Are . . . are you crying?”   
“No!” (Y/N) snaps, even as a tear spills over and slips down her cheek. “What’s going on?” Charlie sighs, turning, so he can lock into her face and not her reflection. He squeezes her hand.” I miss you already,” she whispers. “I’m happy for your, Charlie. I swear to God I am.” She sniffs and gouges her finger into the corner of her eye. “Apparently, I’m also really possessive.” Charlie can’ help smiling at that, but (Y/N) looks miserable. “I guess I really don’t like the idea of having to share you” She lets go of his hand and tugs at her dress again. “I’ve gotten so used to having your around all the time.” She picks at one of her shiny fingernails and refuses to meet his eye. “You always drop everything and fly in to rescue me if I need it.”   
Charlie ducks his head, trying to peer into her face in an effort to make her look at him. “I’ve gotten spoiled and I’ve gotten selfish,” she confesses, bringing her hand up to her mouth so she can chew on her nail. “Stop,” Charlie says, softly talking a step closer and pulling her hand away. “Don’t eat your fake fingernails. (Y/N) grants him a small smile. “I’m just scared, I guess,” she continues. “Now that she gets the biggest part of you, who’s going to rescue me when I make another one of my stupid, damsel-in-distress mistakes?”  
He loves Nicole insanely. But (Y/N)? She’s just part of the package deal. No one is going to take that from him. “(Y/N)” Her name feels heavy on his tongue as he says it. “I’ll always drop everything to come and save you. That isn’t going to change.” The thought of doing anything else is ludicrous, honestly. Charlie shrugs. “I’ll drop everything just to come have a sandwich with you.”   
“Crocked, crooked,” (Y/N) mumbles as she smooths her hands over his lapels. How did he end up standing so close to her? Charlie can see her chest rise and fall with her breaths. The pendant that rests in the hollow of her neck matches her earrings. Ruby? Garnet? Some red stone. He can see the flecks of sliver in her pink eyeshadow. And he’s going to marry the love of his life today. His whole life. All of it. He thinks about Nicole. So vibrant, electrifying any room she walks into with her gorgeous smile and her infectious personality. He sees her hanging on his arm and hanging on his every word. And he adores her!  
But the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and only in time for him to realize the gravity of them. “No one is going to come before you.” (Y/N) looks up at him and quirks a brow. Her hands are resting on his chest. What would happen, Charlie wonders, if she gave the word? Would she kiss him, with those strange colored lips? Would he push up her bridesmaid dress and fuck her over the desk, then go out and say his vows and pledge his loyalty to Nicole? Or would he just leave? Grab (Y/N)’s hand and run like hell? He puts his hands on her waist and pulls her infinitesimally closer. “Charlie,” she whispers. “What do you want?” he asks, just as easily as he would have asked which film she wanted to see that afternoon. Cool and easy, just like everything else between them.  
“I’ll go find Nicole and tell her we need to postpone this. Or I won’t even bother to ever speak to her again?” (Y/N) puts her hands over his. They both watch as she guides his hands from her waist up and around, until his thumbs are resting just below the swell of her breasts. When she does look up at him, Charlie sees that her lips are already swollen. “This is a bad idea,” she says. “Me marrying Nicole?” He can’t stop starting at her mouth. (Y/N) shakes her head. “I mean, whatever is about to happen here.” Charlie honestly has no clue what’s about to happen. And, in his mind, Nicole is distant and ephemeral, a soft-focus muse. And his hands are all the way on (Y/N) now and there’s no cold fabric or weird disconnect anymore.   
He might be able to count every one of her false eyelashes when the door bangs open. His missing groomsmen tumble in like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, laden with bottles of beer. Charlie gives (Y/N) a quick forehead kiss, that looks convincingly innocent and platonic before he hastily sits in the nearby chair. He crosses his legs to hide his growing erection and props his elbows on his knees. The guys draw (Y/N) into their fold, showering her with pats on the back and one-armed hugs. Someone passes a bottle into her hands and she laughs. Jesus, what the hell would have happened if they hadn’t walked in at that moment? Charlie’s heart is pounding and his mind is reeling, but he hears a voice (Frank, maybe?) propose a toast to the last of bachelorhood, a farewell to his balls. (Y/N) giggles and raises her bottle with everyone else. “To you, my Charlie,” she says. “I’ll make sure to save you a good seat on the bus.” He watches as she puts the bottle to her lips and drinks, and rubs off the last of the unfamiliar lipstick.


	4. Four

Charlie looks down at the face of his sleeping son. His baby-round cheeks are flushed as Nicole places her hand on his forehead, even though she had just taken his temperature. “At least he’s asleep now,” she whispers and Charlie nods. He feels kind of like an asshole because he knows that he’s going to have to choose between his family and his closest friend. He knows that he made that choice as soon as Henry said he didn’t feel good that morning and he’s already coming up with excuses and justifications for it.  
He follows Nicole out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind him. Follows her into the kitchen and watches as she sets a tea kettle on the stove. “Call me if he gets worse,” Charlie says. “I’ll come back home. (Y/N) knows he’s sick. I texted her earlier.”  
“Oh, you’re still going?” Nicole asks coolly. She already manages to sound more accusing than curious and Charlie stiffens, bracing himself for the oncoming argument. “Yeah, of course,” he answers briskly. “You know what a big deal this is. She and the kids have been working on it for months. I’m not going to just not show up. Plus, her parents aren’t even going to be there. They’re somewhere in Hawaii apparently.” Charlie glances at his watch. Curtain is at 7, but he wants to get there early and get a good seat, before they’re all taken by proud parents and uncles and other teachers. The original plan was for all of them to stop on the way to the school and pick up a bouquet (directors don’t get enough recognition or enough flowers), but with Nicole going into a snit, Charlie wonders if it’s even a good idea to bring up the flowers now.  
“I just would have thought,” Nicole shrugs and rolls her eyes,” You know, with your son sick and everything. That you might want to stay home and be a good dad. Help take care of him.” Charlie frowns. Nicole is more than capable of taking care of Henry for one night, especially considering that he’s probably just going to sleep the whole time. But he didn’t miss the “Good Dad” comment thrown in there. His head is already starting to hurt and he really hoped that this wasn’t going to turn into a passive-aggressive, guilt-tripping thing. But it looks like it is anyway.  
Charlie turns to face Nicole and places his hands on her shoulders. “I know we were all looking forward to making it a family thing and embarrassing (Y/N) in front of her students. And I’m sorry that Henry is sick; I’m sure it’s just one of those 24-hour bugs.” The resentment is melting from Nicole’s eyes and being replaced with resignation. “I’ll take lots of pictures,” Charlie goes on. “I promise. So, you and Henry can both get a kick out of the performance.” His disappointed that they can’t all go together, but staying home isn’t an option for him.  
It wasn’t going to be fancy, but in a school that doesn’t even have an official theater program, what can you expect? The drama classes focused so much on technique, and she was determined to let the classes showcase some of that and let them get a feel of a real performance. Even if it was just some middle schoolers in DIY costumes, doing short monologues and small scenes, it was going to be performed in the cafetorium in front of an audience. That meant the world to the kids and great deal to (Y/N) too.  
“She literally took on this whole thing single-handedly,” Charlie continues. “With, like no resources or support from the school. It may not be a Hollywood production, but this is huge, Nicole. It really is.” Charlie knows that the Hollywood comment might have been a bit below the belt, but sometimes he feels like his wife still judges things by LA standards. Sometimes he feels like she speaks an entirely different language than he does. And it gets tiresome. And if he’s a bad dad, then she can be a vapid shrew.  
“Can you at least pick up some Pedialyte on your way home?” Nicole asks and she moves to the refrigerator and opens the door. “And some children’s Tylenol?’ She sounds almost hurt, but her back is already towards him and Charlie knows by now what it looks like when he’s being shut out. “Anything else?” he asks, wondering how long the silent treatment will least this time. “It’s fine,” she answers. “We’ll be fine. Have fun.” And the whistling of the kettle almost drowns out her words.  
Charlie watches as Nicole pours the hot water into a mug. “I know we had talked about all of us going to dinner afterwards…” he trails off because even to him, leaving his wife and child at home while he takes (Y/N) out to eat feels like kind of a shitty thing to do. But he can’t help the feeling of still wanting to poke at Nicole a bit more. He just needs her to realize that she’s the one being selfish here, not him. “Anyway, I’ll have my phone on.” Nicole doesn’t reply. And when Charlie does leaves, it’s with only an “On my way!” as he heads out the door. No goodbye kisses, no reassurances, or promises of being home by a certain time.  
He picks up purple flowers on his way to the school. He has absolutely no clue what type of flower they are, but they don’t smell horrible and Charlie knows that purple is her favorite color. The cafetorium isn’t quite packed when he arrives, but he decides at the last minute that it’s more important to leave the good seats for the cast’s friends and family, and finds an inconspicuous spot near the back. He smiles when he sees (Y/N)’s name on the program and wonders if she’s currently running around backstage, making last minute adjustments. The picture of her wearing a headset and a battery pack as she secures bobby pins and gives pep talks is surprisingly adorable. So much so that Charlie has to stifle his laugh and pretend to cough into the purple flowers. He’s so lucky to have such an amazing best friend. He slips his phone out of his pocket and glances at the time before turning it off. Does any show ever start exactly on time?  
When the house lights go down, a chorus of screams and whoops rises up from the crowd and Charlie has to remind himself that this is a middle school production. Teenagers on stage, teenagers in the audience and it’s bound to get a little rowdy. But for teenagers (and preteens), the cast turns out an impressive performance. The two girls that do the Black Friday Selfie scene from Control the Future are hysterical and barely manage to contain their own laughter and not join in the crowd. When the 8th grade boy playing Man in Motion’s Lloyd stands center stage and declares that, “Racism’s just something half of us argue about while the other half do our homework. It’s just a word,” the cafetorium is quiet enough to hear a pin drop.  
Charlie rises to his feet and claps with everyone else during the curtain call. These aren’t even his kids and he’s proud of them! He’s proud of their director too, as they pull her out on stage and she awkwardly bows alongside them. She’s holding a clipboard and her headset is askew and, even from the back of the house, she looks exhausted. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look this happy either. And it makes his chest hurt and his eyes sting.  
As much a Charlie wants to grab her, swing her around and plant the noisiest kiss on her cheek, he politely stands back and watches as she gets passed around from family to enthusiastic family. She shakes hands, poses for photos and smiles gratefully when what looks to be another teacher hands her a plate of refreshments.  
The crowd has dissipated save for a few stragglers and (Y/N) is frantically eating a cookie next one of the trash cans when Charlie makes his way over to her. She sees him and her face breaks into an enormous smile. “You are here!” she exclaims around a mouthful of cookie. Up close, Charlie can see her hair is damp with sweat and she has a smear of mascara across one cheek. He hugs her with one arm and hands her the bouquet. “Congratulations on a successful opening night,” he says. Which is a little ridiculous, because it really is just the one performance. Still, (Y/N) deserves to be celebrated as much as any of her students. “Charlie!” she scolds. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers! God!” But she sniffs them and smiles into the purple blooms before asking in a more serious tone, “How’s Henry? Is Nicole okay? It sucks that he’s sick, poor kid.” Charlie is about to assure her that they are both fine and send their love when a family walks past, says thank you and tells (Y/N) what and a wonderful performance it was. “It’s this guy right here!” she replies, pointing to the boy with them. “He did all the work, not me!” She sees them on their way with more smiles and waves and thank yous. Then turns and shoves the bouquet back at Charlie, crinkling the cellophane wrap as he grabs it. “I have got to pee so frickin’ bad!” she hisses and practically runs for the doors.  
While he waits, Charlie helps the remaining adults to wrap up what’s left of the refreshments and fold the tables in the vestibule. When (Y/N) does reappear, holding her purse and jacket, she looks shocked to see that most of the cleaning has already been done. “You guys are so awesome,” she says. “Thank you!”  
“We’re still doing dinner, right?” Charlie asks. “Yeah, give me just one minute,” she says, tapping at her phone. Then looking up, “Hey, Mr. Jose? Can you take our picture? Please?” The man that Charlie figures must be the janitor, leans his broom against the wall and takes (Y/N)’s phone from her. “Of course,” Mr. Jose smiles. “Right here?” There’s another trash can nearby and an anti-bullying poster on the wall behind them. Not the most glamorous location for a photoshoot, but (Y/N) waves her hand dismissively. “Why not?” she laughs. “Capture me in my own natural habitat!”  
“Hold on,” Charlie says, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket. “Come here.” And he does his best to gently wipe off the mascara on her cheek and under her eyes. “You look like a racoon in its natural habitat,” he teases. Then throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. True to his word, Mr. Jose has no problem taking several photos, with myriad goofy as well as serious poses. “God, you are just the best!” she says as he hands her phone back. “Thank you, Mr. Jose!” Then he waves off her offer to help him finish sweeping, possibly noticing Charlie standing behind her, holding out her jacket.  
No actual plans had been made for dinner, though both of them are starving and the all-night diner down the street from the school is as good as anything. Charlie congratulates (Y/N) as least 145 times as they eat. They toast each other with milkshakes and he tells her how proud of her he is and how amazed at what she’s able to create. “Dude, it was fucking crazy,” she admits. “Corralling all those hormonal little beasties. I don’t know how you manage doing it with adults every day.” And she smiles into her basket of chicken tenders. “Still, they were awesome tonight! They’re such good kids. They really are.” Charlie shakes his head. “Bold of you to assume that the adults are actually less hormonal.” And they both laugh, because who hasn’t played, or at least witnessed, theatre’s constant game of Musical Partners?  
After dinner, Charlie feels obligated to ride in the cab back to (Y/N)’s place with her and he doesn’t complain when she falls asleep on his shoulder, though he feels guilty when they reach her building and he has to wake her up. He also doesn’t feel fantastic about her having to walk into a dark apartment with no one else home, though he does at least run around the other side of the car so he can open the door and help her out. “Love you, Charlie,” she mumbles sleepily and trails her hand across his chest as she heads for the door.  
His reply is automatic. “I love you too. Get inside and go to bed.” He watches her disappear as the doorman holds the door open for her. The climbs back in the cab and gives the driver his own address. And asks where the nearest drug store is on the way back.


	5. Five

“Jesus, Charlie, you scared the fuck outta me!” (Y/N) hisses as she whacks him hard on the arm. “What the hell are you even doing here, lurking in the dark like the goddamn Grim Reaper?!” Had he been in a better mood, Charlie would have laughed at her profanity-laden reaction. For one of the loveliest people he knows, she certainly has the foulest mouth sometimes. He presses his finger to his lips. “I went to check on Nicole and Henry. She put him to bed a while ago and…”  
“Did she fall asleep with him?” (Y/N) asks and, in the dim light of the hallway, Charlie can see her face soften and her eyes crinkle as she smiles. Something about it tugs at him, takes his breath away like he’s about to cry. What all is crumbling around him and how long can he hang onto certain things? From the living room, he hears the sound of the Operation buzzer, followed by laughter and a loud “Dammit!” (Y/N) smiles widely toward the light coming down the hall before turning back to Charlie. “So why are you creepily watching your wife and kid sleep? Is it just a normal parent thing?” Charlie can hear the hint of sarcasm, but underneath, there is real concern. She knows the ins and outs of his and Nicole’s relationship, or lack thereof recently. She is after all, his partner-in-crime and closest confidant. He glances at Henry’s closed bedroom door and back down the hall toward the living room where Game Night is now in full swing. “Here, come here,” he grabs (Y/N)’s hand and leads her around the corner to his and Nicole’s room.  
Once inside, Charlie locks the door and snaps on one of the lamps. (Y/N) sits on the edge of the bed, her toes just brushing the floor. She has donuts on her socks and Charlie notes, not for the first time, how pretty she really is. Even if she looks worried and irritated and is already chewing on one of her fingernails. “Dontdothat,” Charlie sighs as he lowers himself onto the mattress next to her. She’s done “that” as long as he’s known her, never actually biting her nails off (because she’s too obsessed with painting them probably), but gnawing the hell out of herself when she’s stressed.  
“So, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? (Y/N) asks. “Why Game Night has suddenly turned into the fucking Twilight Zone?” she repositions herself on the bed, turning so she’s facing him and scowls as she tucks her feet underneath her. Charlie pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. She may as well be the first person to know. She was the first one he told before he asked Nicole to marry him.  
“It’s not going to work,” he says looking back up at her and shaking his head. “You know as well as we do that it’s not.” He assumes she knows what he’s talking about considering his marriage is an ever-present elephant in the room. And Charlie is genuinely surprised when (Y/N) looks confused. “Not going to what?” she repeats. “This is making less and less sense.”  
“You know, I don’t even remember the last time I fucked her in this bed,” Charlie muses and (Y/N)’s mouth drops open. “It isn’t a marriage anymore,” Charlie shrugs. “It’s barely even a friendship sometimes. I just don’t want us to end up hating each other for the rest of our lives. We haven’t told anyone yet and neither of us has actually even said the word ‘Divorce’ out loud. But that’s what’s happening. That’s what’s going on.”  
(Y/N)’s eyes are huge as she stares back at Charlie and her lower lip is wobbling. She looks like she’s going to cry over the end of his marriage. “But I bought all those books,” she whispers and her face crumples. “Oh my God, honey!” Charlie shakes his head pulls her into a hug. And she cries, sobs, onto his shoulder. “I’ll pay you for the books,” he offers, but that only makes her cry harder. So, Charlie contents himself with rubbing (Y/N)’s back, swaying them back and forth like he used to do when Henry was a baby and he woke up fussing.  
When she sits back up, he wipes the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “Why on Earth are you crying, you goon?” he asks. “It’s going to be fine. She and I made the decision together and the whole thing is going to be quick and easy and it'll be like nothing even changed."  
“I don’t know,” she hiccups, pressing a hand into her chest. “I feel like I’m grieving already. Like somebody actually died.” She sighs and rubs the same hand across her forehead. “I really thought she was The One, you know? That you guys were going to get through this rough patch and go on to be one of those forever marriages.”  
Charlie cocks an eyebrow at her. “Did you really think that?” he asks. He’s not stupid and neither is she. They’ve known each other for how long? Of course, he can tell when she’s lying. No amount of theatre training is going to cover that up. And Charlie is not going to sit here with her all night while they delude themselves and trip down Memory Lane. (Y/N) looks pained. “No,” she sighs. “But I’ll miss you as a couple. That single unit.”  
“You told me before we got married that you missed me already and that you didn’t like the idea of having to share. Your words. But now you’ll miss the couple?” Charlie shrugs. He realizes that (Y/N) is probably processing all the information and still overwhelmed. But after telling her everything, he feels like an enormous weight has been lifted from him and it’s frustrating to watch her confuse herself into her own imaginary burden. And she sighs again, one of those huge, shuddering sighs that comes all the way up from your toes and the depths of your soul. She stares at a spot on the comforter and asks in a voice laden with both sadness and sarcasm, “So do I get you back now? Now that she’s done with you?” Sure, it’s an amicable split and Charlie and Nicole both intend on remaining friends afterwards, but hearing (Y/N)’s tone of resentment does something to him. It tugs at his heart and tugs at his cock and he wants her to be possessive and bitter. He wants her to want him. What the hell is that about?  
“Goddammit,” she sighs again, rolling her eyes and dropping her head onto her shoulder. “I really don’t want to have to choose sides, but...” she bites her lip and raises teary eyes to his. “I’m with you on this, you know? The whole thing. Henry too. No matter what, Charlie, I promise.” He hugs her again, yanks her into his arms and hangs on. She’s so sweet and has always been unflinchingly loyal and supportive and he probably doesn’t deserve her at all. But he’s grateful, especially now. And it’s Charlie’s turn to heave a gigantic sigh, to scoot closer to her on the bed so he can anchor his chin on top of her head. It’s funny how they’ve always fit together like that. And how much it pissed her off when he started doing it back in school.  
He pulls away just enough to kiss her on the forehead and, without thinking, like it’s something he does every day, kisses her again on the lips. Fuck! Has he ever done that before? Charlie is sure they must have done that before. Just a peck? Theatre people are always kissing on each other like it’s no big deal. Hello kisses and goodbye kisses. Cheeks and lips and hands, everything is fair game. Right? But judging by the surprised look on (Y/N)’s face and the sudden feeling that an entire percussion section is about to tear its way out of Charlie’s chest, this is new. It’s different from all their goofy innuendo-laced comments or the occasional flare of tension that would spark between them.  
Charlie still has his arms around her, hands splayed across her back. And he knows, knows, that if he so much as moves, he’s going to kiss her again. Really, truly kiss her and that’ll be it. He won’t stop and neither will she. He’ll lay her down onto the bed and make love to her the way he’s never done with anybody. In the middle of Game Night, with his wife and son asleep down the hall.  
Charlie may already be half in love with (Y/N) anyway and the thought scares the absolute shit out of him. She’s a hell of a lot more than just a rebound and Charlie is not about to risk ruining their friendship because she looks pretty tonight and he’s lonely. But this isn’t temptation, it’s truth.  
She doesn’t move though and neither does he. Until he feels her fingers tighten into his shirt, gripping the fabric so hard that her hands shake. And he watches as her lips move to silently form his name. And she sniffs and clears her throat. “You know you’re my best friend in the whole world and I mean it when I say that I’m with you on this. Whatever you need.” And Charlie realizes, with a sickening lurch, what she means. She’ll let him do anything he wants tonight. She’ll go along with it, her body will respond appropriately and he’ll make her come harder than she ever has. But only because he needs it. Because he’s lonely and he’s her best friend in the world. And that’s the very thing he can’t allow. Not like this and definitely not right now.  
(Y/N) lets go of him and swipes at another tear on her cheek. The percussion section is back in Charlie’s chest, but has become a painful cacophony with no rhythm or reason. He tries unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles in his shirt as she turns and dangles her legs off the edge of the bed again. The severity of what he’d almost done and how effortless it had felt is disturbing, yet somehow exhilarating. Charlie rises from the bed and paces a few steps while rubbing his hand over his hair. He turns back toward the bed where (Y/N) is still sitting, looking just as pretty as she did when he’d dragged her in there. And just as confused.  
“Monopoly,” Charlie offers lamely. And she doesn’t respond. “I better get back out there, you know, before someone steals my championship title.” She frowns and he babbles. “You can go ahead and hang out in here as long as you like. Come out whenever you’re ready.” (Y/N) already has her finger in her mouth, chewing on the nail as she stares back at him. Charlie leaves the room without looking back. And closes the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have a chapter of nothing but vulgar, gratuitous sex to write and I'm already feeling nostalgic over this little writing experiment.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the sex! Set somewhere post-divorce, but with no spoilers for the larger Soft Drop fic. Pretty fluffy, but a hell of a lot of absolute filth! This turned out to be a fun writing experiment and I feel like maybe there's an infinite number of Charlie/Reader one-shots that can be written and sprinkled throughout this universe now.   
> Big thanks to those who followed along on this short, but meaningful journey.

Charlie pulls at the hem of her frayed jeans. It’s her favorite pair, and even though they’re quite literally falling apart, she refuses to get rid of the damn things. Though he does have to admit, her ass looks incredible in them. He finds a small hole in the denim and works his pinky into it as he studies his script for an upcoming production. “Dude, don’t fuck up my pants.” (Y/N)’s voice is muffled, maybe by the copy of Rolling Stone that she’s holding in front of her face or it may be the bite of sandwich she’d just taken. Charlie frowns and asks, “Is that the last of the French bread?”  
The magazine lowers. Behind it, (Y/N) is frozen mid-chew. She wears her extra pair of glasses that make her look a little like Austin Powers. There’s a pimple on her forehead and breadcrumbs on her chin. She looks so pretty and Charlie thinks he’d be willing to go through all of it all over again, if he knew that he would still get the girl at the end.   
“Share?” she smiles coquettishly, holding out her peace offering with provolone. Charlie turns off the TV, figuring that Stanley Kowalski will just have to fend for himself this time. He looks down at (Y/N)’s feet in his lap. Her nails are painted a pinky-lavender shade this week. It’s funny how it really doesn’t matter what either of them might be working on, if she’s stretched out on the sofa, he always immediately pulls those feet into his lap when he sits down on the other side. He finds it comforting, just to be touching her.   
Still, the ragged jeans irritate him. And of course, they would look so much better on the floor. And, oh fuck, she’s wearing one of his shirts. She hadn’t been wearing that all day, he knows he would have noticed. Does she do things like that on purpose, Charlie wonders. Just because she knows how he’ll react? He suspects that she does. Or, she still has no idea the effect she has on him.   
(Y/N) is still holding the sandwich half and wiggles it enticingly. “You can haaaave soooome!” she teases. And whether the inuendo was intentional or not, she’s sealed Charlie’s fate and he’s going to absolutely die if he doesn’t get inside her soon. Charlie closes the magazine and tosses it on the floor. He plucks the sandwich half from (Y/N)’s hand, takes a bite and then puts it back. She doesn’t move. Just stares back. And when he turns to put his script and pen on the end table, she rearranges her feet, leaving him room to settle between her spread legs. “I don’t know how the hell I get any work done at all with you around,” he mutters, before pressing his lips to hers. Christ, she feels good! Just everything about her. Well, maybe not everything. Charlie winces as her horn-rimmed glasses poke him in the corner of his eye. “Hang on a minute,” she whispers as she attempts to gently drop her sandwich onto the floor. She squints into Charlie’s face and pulls her glasses down her nose. She scans him again for a few seconds, takes the glasses off and peeks through the lenses. “Yep,” she smiles widely, putting her hand on his cheek. “Still you.”   
The glasses are dropped unceremoniously next to the sandwich and Charlie kisses her again. He loves watching her get ready for bed and knows that the balm she puts on her lips at night is called Drunk Elephant. What he doesn’t know is how it can make her lips so incredibly, almost unnaturally soft. She opens her mouth against his and Charlie groans when he feels her tongue slide along his bottom lip. He keeps kissing (Y/N), reveling in the feeling of her nose brushing against his as he dips his tongue into her mouth over and over. She has her arms around his neck and her fingers sunk into his hair. Already, he can feel her rocking her hips up into him and wonders just how wet she must be inside those tattered jeans.   
Jesus, he fucking loves her! He loves how her pussy clenches around him as he feels her cum drip down over his balls. He loves that her favorite cereal is Lucky Charms and how she curses like a sailor! He loves her irrevocable celebrity crushes on Alfred Molina and Jeff Daniels. He loves how she’s teaching Henry to do the Lindy Hop and that particular shade of red lipstick that she wears.  
Charlie continues pressing sloppy kisses over her cheek and can feel his dick growing painfully harder and longer with every gasp and moan that falls from her lips. He licks a wet stripe along her jaw and down the column of her neck. She smells like an orange orchard and tastes like home.   
“Why the hell are you wearing my fucking shirt?” Charlie groans as he slides one hand under the fabric, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of (Y/N)’s belly. The subject has never really been broached seriously and has only ever come up during the dirtiest of dirty talk, but Charlie is enthralled, in love with the idea of fucking a baby into that perfect belly one day.   
“I thought you liked it-oh God! I thought you liked it when I wear your clothes.” What had started as a cheeky comeback, falls apart completely as soon as Charlie pushes up (Y/N)’s bra and runs his thumb over her nipple. “Mmmm,” he hums thoughtfully as he rolls her nipple between his thumb and finger. (Y/N) has fucking amazing tits! Ample enough that she can squeeze them together and let him pump his dick in between them, but still not be more than a handful. “I do have a soft spot for the way you look in my too-big clothes.” He rubs the pads of his fingers over her breast, loving the feeling of her nipple stiffening under his touch, loving how he can trace every gorgeous wrinkle in the tightened-up areola surrounding it.   
“And yet you always seem to want to take them off of me,” (Y/N) sighs, as she allows her head to fall back over the armrest and pushes her chest out. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, darling,” Charlie explains as he pushes up the shirt and her bra, exposing both of her perfect breasts. “I’ll always want to take your clothes off.” She laughs at that, the movement making her breasts jiggle before Charlie bends down to pepper the other one with kisses. As he latches his lips onto her nipple and begins rhythmically sucking, Charlie’s hand trails down (Y/N)’s stomach as he briefly allows himself to picture her swollen and pregnant and gorgeous before his fingers reach the frayed waistband of her jeans. “Oh please, Charlie,” she whispers as her fingers tighten in his hair.   
With one hand, he makes short order of the button and zipper and slips right down into her soaked panties. “Goddammit, you’re fucking wet!” Charlie says as he pulls off (Y/N)’s breast. He reaches as far down into her panties as he can as (Y/N) angles her hips up into his touch. “You always sound so surprised,” she gasps, then, “Fuck!” when Charlie’s finger slips over her perineum and touches the edge of the crinkled skin surrounding her hole. He loves how it feels to have her slick smeared almost all the way up to his wrist. He wants to be as deep inside her as he possibly can, wants to live inside that perfect, tight pussy forever.   
“Can we… oh, shit!” she cuts herself off and whines as Charlie finds her clit with his middle finger. It’s hard and hot and slippery and he spends a few blissful minutes with his finger tracing slow and lazy circles around the swollen knot of flesh and sucking on her breast again, periodically letting up on the suction so he can work her puffy nipple between his teeth. “We have a bedroom, you know?” she whimpers, running her fingers over and over through Charlie’s hair. “Can we fuck on the bed? I just put clean sheets on it this morning.”  
Charlie stands up and palms himself hard through his pants. The sight of (Y/N) sprawled across the couch, her jeans unzipped and the shirt and bra shoved up to her neck makes him think that, with a few good strokes, he could probably get himself off easily just like this, maybe cum all over that prefect belly. But he shakes himself from the fantasy. This afternoon is about both of them. He bends back down, groaning as he notices (Y/N)’s breast still shiny with his spit. Slipping both arms under her, he hoists her over his shoulder and carries her, squealing and giggling down the hall to the bedroom.   
Once inside, with (Y/N) safely deposited on the bed, there are a few frantic moments of unbuttoning, of bare shoulders and tangled fingers. She whines when Charlie has to stop kissing her just long enough to lift her shirt and bra over her head and before he can even throw them across the room, she seizes him by the face, pulls him down and shoves her tongue into his mouth. God, she’s hot! A dirty, dirty slut, but no one else will ever lay a hand on her but him. He loves her so much and is still absolutely astounded some days that she is his now!   
“The room looks good,” Charlie says as (Y/N) lays back onto the bank of pillows and he settles over her. He knows she had spent the morning cleaning and straightening. “The kitchen looks good too,” she answers as she trails her hand down his stomach, scratching her nails into his pubic hair. “I like that you put out the new dish towels. The blue ones?”  
“Yeah, it’s a nice color,” Charlie agrees. “I’m glad we picked… Fuck, baby!” he interrupts himself as he feels her wrap her fingers around his cock. She giggles at his reaction and he just has to kiss her again. He doesn’t even give her a chance to move, already thrusting into her hand, losing himself in the drag and friction. “You’re going to make me come,” he mumbles against her lips. “Just like this.”   
“The hell am I am!” she laughs, quickly letting him go. “You’re not getting off that easy. No pun intended.” Charlie laughs with her and wonders again at how they ever get anything done when all they seem to do is laugh together and fuck like rabbits. “Don’t worry, my sweetheart.” He rubs his hand down her cheek and sits back on his heels. “I’ll come inside this beautiful fucking pussy like I’m supposed to.” She grins up at him as he rubs his thumb up and down her slit, collecting all the delicious slick that practically flows out of her. So much that he has to pause to suck it off his thumb. She tastes so sweet and he would mix her cum into his morning coffee every day if he could. “God, you taste good!” he whispers.  
He’d also love to be able to spend all day just spoiling that beautiful cunt, with his tongue and his cock and fingers. Or just stare at it for hours, starting at her stiff little clit and follow the path as it curves around her lips and glistening folds. Around and over, until the colors and textures swirl and disappear into her entrance. She’s like a painting. On more than one occasion, he’d masturbated (Y/N) to orgasm as he’d lain between her legs just to watch the way her pussy throbs and contracts as she comes. And he never thought he’d become so enamored with the concept of female ejaculation. But God, he fucking loves that she does that! Ten minutes into a rehearsal and he’ll be remembering how she’d soaked the sheets on the bed the night before and Charlie will realize that he actually hasn’t been paying attention to the scene on stage at all.  
But in the present, on clean sheets, in a clean bedroom with the rest of the day to kill, there’s nothing to distract him and Charlie is singularly focused on this absolutely beautiful, almost offensively sexy woman beneath him. She reaches up and runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. “I love you,” she breathes. “Did you know that?” He knows, but oh, how he loves hearing it!! He worries sometimes, counting up all his little failures and misdeeds until self-doubt almost consumes him. Then he’ll see her, coming out of the bathroom, their bathroom, with a towel around her head. He’ll hear her singing “Backstreet’s back, all right!” as she rummages around in the kitchen and Charlie is reminded how she’s still there, still with him. And when she rolls over and throws her arm over him in her sleep, it almost breaks his heart at how amazingly right and how normal it feels. He catches the tip of her finger as it passes over his lips, biting gently and she giggles. “I had my suspicions,” Charlie says and leans down to kiss her again. He can’t help but smile against her when (Y/N) deepens the kiss and runs her tongue over his bottom lip.   
He continues rubbing his thumb up and down her slit, sliding through all her sticky grool. And the sight of (Y/N)’s pretty pinkish-lavender nails as she reaches down and parts her lips almost has Charlie losing his damn mind! She holds herself open, exposing her clit and both perfect holes. Her juices are dripping down to Charlie’s wrist as he swipes his thumb over her clit. Over and all the way down, before dipping it inside her. He alternates between stimulating her throbbing clitoris and thrusting a finger into her, then two fingers, until she’s a panting, squirming wreck. Charlie can see how her hands are beginning to shake. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, gently putting his hands over hers and guiding them away. “Let me.”   
Carefully, he guides cock toward her waiting entrance, but instead of pushing into her, Charlie slides himself up and over her clit. “God, Charlie!” she squeaks and her eyes fly open. “FUCK!” She’s so cute when she’s desperate and begging, but less is always more for Charlie when it comes to this particular type of teasing. She’s so much cuter when she’s actually coming. And why the hell would he want to be anywhere else when he could be inside her, surrounded by her warmth, feeling her squeeze him over and over? There’s not any other bliss that compares to it. Even so, rubbing the tip of his dick over and around her clit, coating it in his own precum feels goddamn amazing and Charlie thinks they could both probably get off from this alone. But there will be many more opportunities.   
He angles himself just slightly and, with the gentlest nudge of his fingers, he slips neatly inside of her. God, it’s amazing how perfectly they fit together. Her eyes get even bigger and she grips his thighs as he continues to push into her tight cunt. Charlie knows he’s a pretty well-endowed guy and he’d gotten used to partners only giving ¾ blowjobs or the inevitable wince and gasp when he’d gone to deep. But (Y/N) wants every bit of him, she wants to be stretched taught around him, as far inside her as he can go, his balls pressed tight against the hot skin around her asshole. And even then, she’ll try to pull him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his ass. Closer, deeper, harder. They’ll make up for all those years of platonic friendship.  
He has to blink hard and squint because she’s so freaking beautiful! Christ, is he ever going to get used to her like this? With her eyes closed and her hair spread over the pillow, she looks like an angel. But an angel would never bite their lip like that or move their hips so perfectly and so obscenely in time with his. She’s breathing deeply through her nose and Charlie is mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest, how the light through the bedroom window moves across her breasts, casting her nipples in shadow and then illuminating them again. An angel.  
Keeping both hands on her knees and her legs spread wide, Charlie continues to thrust into her, building a steady rhythm. The sight of his cock disappearing into her pussy is intoxicating. Sliding in and then shining and streaked with her juices as he pulls back out. “Fuck yeah, baby!” he whispers as he stares between them. He’s sure she can’t hear him over the sound of her erratic breaths or whimpers. But him fucking her is the most mesmerizing thing he’s ever seen. “You always take me so well,” Charlie marvels. “Was this pussy made just for me?” (Y/N) opens her eyes and gulps a deep breath. “Of course, it was,” she stammers. “It is. Just yours.”   
He yanks back on her, propping her hips up onto his knees, pulling her closer and penetrating her almost impossibly deeper. She immediately presses her thighs into her chest and braces her feet against Charlie’s chest. “Oh, shit shit shit shit!” she chants as he leans back and drags the head of his cock over her g-spot. “There. Fuck, Charlie, yes! Right there!” He knows every inch of her, from the rough, corrugated texture of the spot he’s hitting now, to the stiff, rubbery flesh of her cervix and, when he pushes higher up, the head of his cock slipping into her anterior fornix. Who knew there was even a such thing as an a-spot? A little crawl space to wedge himself into that makes her come like a woman possessed. Research on female anatomy and erogenous zones has never been so fascinating. And as far as he’s concerned, Charlie is the one reaping the benefits of all this new information.   
(Y/N) has allowed her legs to fall back open and moans loudly and her hand drifts to her stomach. “Ohhhhhh! Charlie, I can feel you!” And she laughs breathlessly as she pushes her hand into herself, hoping to feel more of him from the outside. “Damn, dude, you’re fucking hung!” The compliment strokes his ego just as his cock strokes her concealed spot and he covers her hand with his, pushing just a bit harder. “I want you to feel me everywhere,” he says as he pulls almost all the way out, just breaching her entrance with the tip. They breathe together for a moment, before Charlie slams his cock back into her. “Everywhere!” she cries, grabbing frantically at his shoulders. “Moremoremoremoremore! Just fuck me, I love you!” She pulls him down to kiss him and Charlie groans into her mouth when she tilts her head back and opens even wider to him. And his lips slide against hers, leaving a trail of spit across her cheek until his tongue finds her pulse and he latches onto it. Her skin is hot and Charlie sucks hard, breaking little capillaries with each one of her heartbeats. He feels like he’s pulling each sound she makes, every sigh and sinful moan, directly from her throat. The vibrations move down to his cock, reach down to the very root of it and pull his balls up tight against him.   
“Fuck, (Y/N), you feel so good!” he babbles into her skin as he begins to feel her grip him even harder. Charlie has had a decent amount of pussy in his days. Some better than others, but (Y/N)’s is in a class all its own: tighter and wetter and hotter than anything. Anything ever. “This sweet. Little. Cunt!” he punctuates each word by thrusting harder, moving deeper into her and pushing her higher up the bed.   
Charlie knows he’s not long for this world, and he sits back up, hitting that perfect angle again. His thumb finds its way back onto (Y/N)’s swollen clit and with her still shoving her hips into him, he fucks her in earnest now. Hard and fast and deep enough for her to feel him all the way up into her lungs. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she gasps with every breath. Hands knotting and twisting into the sheets beneath her. Charlie will change the bedding this time, give (Y/N) a chance to rest and finish her sandwich. “GOD, Charlie!!” she practically shrieks. “I could do this all day long, you know?” he pants, wiping a sweaty forehead on his shoulder. “Just you and me?” She nods enthusiastically, tits bouncing as she continues grinding her pelvis against him. She chokes on the word, “Okay!” The slap, slap, slap of skin against skin fills the room. The warm, squelchy sound of Charlie pushing her own slick back up inside her and the smell of her arousal make his head spin.   
There are times when he wants (Y/N) as close as possible when she comes and he gathers her into his arms, her face pressed into his chest. He’ll tuck his chin over her head and hold on as tight as he can as her whole body shudders against him. He’s never letting her go.   
And sometimes, he loves to just watch. Like now, as her eyebrows pinch together and her mouth falls open to form that perfect O-shape. “I know, baby. Come on,” Charlie urges, pressing his thumb just a little harder into her clit, moving it in smaller and faster circles. She slips a hand down there again but, delirious with lust, all she does is flutter her fingers while Charlie slides his dick back and forth past them. The added friction is enough to pull him off the edge, to yank him into an abyss of white-hot pleasure where all he knows is her. Her hot cunt around him, her shallow and erratic breathing in his ears and 10 years of friendship whirling around his head.   
Charlie slams into her and holds her in place as he feels his balls empty inside her, feeling every long spurt of cum as it fills her to overflowing (fuck, he’s going to knock her up so hard one day!). Without warning, he feels her clamp tight around him, her pussy rhythmically squeezing, sucking every last drop from him. “Fuuuuuuuck!!!” (Y/N) wails and Charlie has to place a hand on her belly to keep her from levitating right off the bed, but his thumb never stops moving against her. Even when she gushes over him, creaming herself on his cock, and he feels her cum run down his thighs, Charlie continues working her clit all the way through her shattering orgasm.   
It’s only after she grabs at his shoulders again and sinks her fingers into his hair so she can pull him closer and kiss him, that Charlie slides out of her warm cunt. Though he can still feel her walls fluttering around him. He prefers to think that it’s just him, but the girl comes like a goddamn locomotive: hard! And sometimes more than once. He rolls over, dragging her along until he’s lying on his back, with her head resting on his chest. They’d ended up like that the first night they were “together” and it’s been their preferred sleeping position ever since.  
“I love your nipples,” (Y/N) whispers as she ghosts her fingers over Charlie’s chest, making him shiver. “Mine aren’t nearly that pretty.” She’s pouting. Which means that she either needs a nap or more caffeine. Or the rest of that sandwich. Charlie catches her hand and brings it up to his lips. “Aw, don’t say that, babe,” he murmurs against her knuckles. “You have gorgeous nipples. They’re like little pieces of candy.” She laughs and Charlie feels her breath huff out over his chest. Just one of the many bizarre, irreverent conversations they’ve had over the years. Back in school, friends would accuse them all the time of having their own language.   
“Come on,” Charlie says as he places a gigantic and loud kiss on (Y/N)’s forehead. “Get dressed, let’s go out.” Post-coital coffee is in order. Charlie looks at the clock on the bedside table. Or dinner. He can screw her senseless whenever he wants and brush his teeth next to her every morning. But he’s not sure he’ll ever get over how it feels to just hold her hand and cross the street together or to be able to kiss her when she surprises him at rehearsal with donuts. He can bring her to parties and openings and keep his arm around her waist the whole night. Freely and without fear. Everywhere.


End file.
